


You doing alright?

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Bellamy decides he doesn't much like his soulmate.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 199





	You doing alright?

**Author's Note:**

> I guess it's soulmate Sunday! Thanks to Zou for betaing this. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: one instance of non-graphic (chemical burn) self harm.

Bellamy doesn't much like his soulmate.

He knows that's silly. He knows he's fated to fall madly in love with them, and all that. But honestly, they seem like a bit of a pain in the butt.

It's just _rude_. That's what he thinks. Everyone knows that whatever you draw or write on your skin shows up on your soulmate's skin, if you have one. But his damn soulmate just won't stop spamming him with unsolicited _crap_. They have a drawing problem like no one he has ever know, endlessly doodling over their hand and arm and, on one memorable occasion, even their _knees_.

But the worst thing of all? The worst thing is the lists.

He's only twelve years old when the lists start. He's been getting infuriating smudges from his soulmate for maybe five years now, so he figures they must be a few years younger than him. But one day, he wakes up to find a little list on the back of his right hand.

_\- Reading homework_

_\- Sharpen pencils_

_\- Gift for Daddy_

He's so incensed he actually goes to the bathroom and tries to scrub it off. He knows it won't work, of course. He's not an idiot. He's a very smart young man – quite unlike his apparently foolish younger soulmate. But he doesn't want to have some stranger's to do list on his hand for the entire day. It's just annoying and distracting and _weird_.

There's more to it than that, though. It's what's _on_ the list that has him thinking he's not going to be well-suited to this soulmate at all. That maybe the universe has made a mistake in deciding they are destined for each other.

For starters, who needs a reminder to _read_? Bellamy has never needed to write himself a note about reading homework in his entire life – he loves reading, and would do it all day if he could. How the hell is he going to find common ground with a soulmate who needs to put that on their to do list?

The second item makes him even angrier. _Sharpen pencils_. As if they have actual plural pencils, expensive and valuable old Earth artefacts. Barely anyone on the Ark uses pencils. They use charcoal or ink. But this kid is some privileged brat who has a whole collection of them.

The third thing on the list is the worst, of course. _Gift for Daddy_. They're from money, then, his soulmate. They can afford gifts for the people they care about. Lucky them.

There's that, and there's the fact they have a father. That's what makes Bellamy most jealous of all.

…...

He can't hide it, of course. That's just a feature of living in such close proximity with his mother and sister. His mother simply looks at the scribbles, smiles slightly, nods as if there is good news, here.

He's annoyed with her for that. Can't she see that there is _never_ any good news in their lives?

His sister, though, is more curious. More persistent and almost _interfering_.

"What does it say?" She asks. She's all of six years old and she's working on her reading at the moment.

"Can you do this first word?" He asks softly. Might as well give his sister a reading lesson for her trouble.

"Reading. That's reading!" She says, excited. "Does your soulmate like reading? They must be perfect for you!"

He snorts, tries to turn it into a cough. He doesn't want Octavia to think he's angry with her. "I don't think so, O. I don't know what they like."

"Then why don't you ask them?" She asks, as if it could be so simple.

He frowns. Where to start? How to tell his sweet naïve baby sister that Alpha station soulmates are not for boys like him? And that, more even than that, he doesn't think soulmates are for him _at all_? He just doesn't see love working out for him, when he has his sister to protect, when his mother got them into this situation by loving too much.

"I don't think I want to." He says, shrugging as if it's no big deal. "I'd rather stay here with you than grow up and marry my soulmate or whatever."

Even as he says it, it tastes like at least half a lie on his tongue.

…...

The lists continue – not for weeks or months but for _years_. The doodles continue, too, even when Bellamy is starting to think that his soulmate really must be too old for doodles. They're writing things that are obviously meaningful schoolwork on their hand now – essays about the history of Earth before the bombs, yet alongside it will be the silliest little drawing of a flower.

He just doesn't understand why this person is his soulmate. What the hell does he have in common with some obsessive list-writer who likes drawing flowers and has more money than sense?

He thinks it's really weird to live life by lists like this, for what it's worth. As if life is just a bunch of tasks to accomplish, goals to fulfil. As if there is no place for dreams or desires or simply enjoying the moment.

Huh. Maybe that's what the little flowers are for.

Great. For years he's been putting up with this stranger scribbling all over his arm, and this is honestly the first time he's managed to understand them at all.

…...

The lists get more interesting, as he reaches his late teens, stretches out towards twenty. Today is a good one, for example.

_\- Bio homework_

_\- Watch suture demo_

_\- Call Jackson_

He's been wondering for a while, if there was a pattern to spot here. His soulmate has been writing more and more things about biology and chemistry, fewer and fewer about history or reading. There has been a fair amount of medical terminology cropping up, too.

But this settles it. Jackson is one of the Ark doctors. Bellamy's mother had an appointment with him only last week.

This soulmate of his is training to be a nurse or doctor.

He thinks that's a good thing, probably. It's something he has respect for, at the very least. He doesn't much like doctors as a general rule – they're inherently authority figures, aren't they? They're concerned with things like rules and rationing. And they tend to be people who have grown up on Alpha station and wanted for nothing.

But he can't deny that it's an admirable career. The Ark needs doctors. Probably this soulmate of his is doing something right, he is forced to grudgingly admit to himself.

He still doesn't much _like_ them, though.

He still doesn't see how he's suited to a wealthy future doctor who runs their life by lists.

He could find out who they are, now, he supposes. He could walk straight into med bay and ask Dr Jackson to let him know the name of the next young apprentice who gets in touch with him. It would be all too easy.

He could meet his _soulmate_.

Despite everything, a tiny part of him still wants to. A part of him dreams of a life beyond his preoccupation with Octavia, craves the idea of having someone who will really treasure him. Apart from anything else, he's heard it said that a soulmate is a best friend as well as a lover, and there sure are times when he could use a friend.

No. He's not going to do it. This soulmate is wrong for him – obviously they are. He doesn't go to med bay asking questions, for exactly the same reason he has never written a message back to them on his skin.

He knows everything he cares to know about this soulmate. He knows enough to be certain that he doesn't wish to know them any better, thank you very much.

…...

Bellamy's life falls apart, and it's all his own fault.

His mother is floated, his sister arrested. He finds himself working as a janitor and living alone in the apartment. It used to be cramped, when they all lived here, but at least it was quite happy. Despite the fear of hiding his sister, at least this place was filled with love.

Now it feels only incredibly cold.

And his soulmate? Still living their best life, of course. Still filling the back of his hand with to do lists, still doodling the occasional tree or bear in the margins of his skin whether he likes it or not.

He doesn't like it, for the record. He _hates_ it. He detests it. It's a reminder of everything that is wrong with the world – that he and his mother were not supposed to love Octavia, just because she was an accidental second child. That he's supposed to love this Alpha brat who knows nothing of hardship or loss.

He tries to scrub the words away. It's mostly words, these days. The doodles are far less plentiful than they used to be when his soulmate was presumably a younger child.

But of course, the words cannot be washed off. That's how it works, isn't it? He knows that. He's perfectly capable of understanding it.

It seems that his brain is not firing too well, though, in the aftermath of losing his mother and having his sister taken away from him. He takes to using the chemicals he carries for work to try to scrub the words off his skin. Soap doesn't work, and nor does floor cleaner, so he keeps persevering. He tries with harder chemicals, doesn't stop until his skin is burning but the words are _still there_.

He doesn't go to med bay afterwards. He can't. There's someone he is avoiding as if his very life depends upon it.

…...

One morning, two months after his mother is floated, Bellamy wakes up with no words on his hand.

He frowns, turns on the light. No, definitely no words.

Hmm. Maybe they're just sleeping in today, he wonders. They're usually up before him, but it doesn't have to mean anything that they have changed their habit today. And yes, sure, they usually leave the old list in place until it's time for a new one.

But it doesn't _mean anything_.

It doesn't matter, anyway. Of course it doesn't matter. It's _good_ that his soulmate has stopped pestering him all the damn time. He doesn't like them at all.

But it just looks weird to have a bare hand. It _feels_ weird, even, as if there is a different sensation when his skin is covered in scrawl.

He manages to ignore it for most of the day, more or less. He wears gloves while he's at work, after all. Thick ugly yellow ones that can almost cover the fact he's worried sick about his soulmate.

He hates himself a little for that. He doesn't even _like_ them.

But they're his soulmate, and they've stopped writing lists, and he has no idea what that means – but he senses that it cannot mean anything good.

His skin is still bare by the time he heads home that night. No writing, no doodles, not so much as a smudge.

What he wouldn't give right now to see an obnoxious birthday gift reminder scribbled over his knuckles.

No, that's a silly thought. He doesn't care _that_ much. He just thinks it would be a shame if anything bad had happened to them. They're a pain in the ass, yes, but they're also a doctor and the Ark needs doctors. They're organised and they like Earth flowers, which is probably not inherently a bad pair of qualities. And he has to admit he's noticed a lot of _kind_ things on the list over the years – gifts and thank yous and visits.

And they're his soulmate. There's that, too. They're his soulmate, and he's a lonely fucking janitor who has lost everyone he's ever loved. He just sort of presumed his soulmate always be there, you know? That this was one person who would be constant in his life, sketching on his skin whether he wanted them to or not.

He gulps back tears. He can't cry about a soulmate he's never even met. That's stupid. And he knows, in the depths of his heart, that these tears are really for his mother and sister. This is just the last straw that has pushed him over the edge, perhaps.

But maybe he can do something about this. Maybe he can get through to his soulmate, even though there's nothing he can do for his mother and precious little he can do for his sister.

He picks up a pen.

 _You doing alright?_ He asks simply, careful letters tucked where his wrist meets his palm. He wants somewhere that can be covered by his jacket sleeve, tomorrow, if it doesn't wash off too well, but that his soulmate will be unlikely to miss.

No response. Nothing. He sits, staring at his hand, for ten long minutes.

Well, then. So much for that.

Should he go to med bay and ask after them? No, that's silly. That's madness, in fact. There's no way he would get useful answers if he – a janitor – just showed up in med bay and started asking if they had any apprentices who like drawing and keeping lists.

But he's always been a rather impulsive sort of guy. It's a struggle, right now, to convince himself not to run down the hallway to med bay.

Tomorrow. That's the bargain he makes with himself. If he's had no answer by tomorrow, he'll go.

…...

He almost misses the answer when it comes. It's pure good luck that he's on a break, his gloves slung over the edge of his bucket so he can eat his sad protein-paste lunch.

He's just opening the packet when he sees a thick, black smudge appear over his knuckles. He almost drops the food in his shock, clenches his fist to keep hold of it and keep his eagerness in check.

It's a different kind of writing from what he's used to. He's accustomed to seeing neat handwriting in smart blue ink. But this is big, smudgy and black, and not so easy to decipher.

_SKYBOX_

That's definitely what it says. _Skybox_. So what's happened? His soulmate has been arrested? His preciously perfect Alpha station medical apprentice soulmate?

That's weird. That's intriguing. That's unexpected, to say the least.

It's common ground, too. He never anticipated that, never thought they would be linked by criminal convictions whilst sharing nothing else.

The word on his hand gets smudged, now. It's as if it's being frantically rubbed out, over in the skybox. So there's something secretive going on, then?

He'll write back later. Maybe. Probably. But he can't write back now – he's at work. He doesn't have a pen.

…...

He never does write back.

He means to. Vaguely. In a distant sort of way.

But he just doesn't get round to it, that first night. The next morning, he picks up a pen but he doesn't know what to say. By the end of the week, he still hasn't written a word.

What would he say? _I'm sorry you got arrested_? _I'm sorry I ignored you for sixteen years_?

It's not as if he really wants to get to know them. He supposes he wants them to be OK, probably. But they almost certainly will be – they're Alpha, with medical training. The council are bound to spare them.

As opposed to his sister, who will most likely be floated.

That's what decides it, really. He's still bitter over that, and more convinced than ever that love is not meant to be part of his life. So he doesn't write back. He doesn't listen out for rumours of any future doctors recently arrested, either. It's easy to miss out on news like that, when he's a janitor with few friends. He always made a point of avoiding much social contact for the sake of protecting his sister.

Months pass, and he never writes at all.

He doesn't get any messages, either. Most mornings he wakes up with some black smudges on his fingertips, but no words on the back of his hand.

That's the way it goes, isn't it? He was never supposed to enjoy love. He can see that, now.

…...

Bellamy follows Octavia to the ground when he has the chance. Of course he does.

It's not as if he has anything else much to live for.

…...

It takes Bellamy ten minutes to figure out who is most likely his soulmate.

To be honest, he hasn't even opened the doors before he starts having his suspicions about this particular blonde. She's the right age, as best he can figure out. She's left-handed, which is a big clue, and she's recently been in the skybox – he knows that by her presence here. She's dressed Alpha, with the braid and the silly little earrings. And there's something about her bossy manner and the way she tries to tell him what to do right from the beginning that just makes him think she has the right vibe, you know? She seems like the kind of person who would be a medical student and would write those fucking lists.

In short, she's a total pain in the ass, and he's always known his soulmate is that.

He tries not to dwell on it. He carries on as if unaffected, opening the doors, letting the kids run free.

But then the blonde in question marches right up to him with fire in her eyes.

"You can't just let them run wild." She says, angry.

"I don't see why not." He argues.

"Because it's dangerous. They're not used to Earth. What if one of them breaks an ankle? I'm the only person here with medical training and I'm going off to -"

"You're a doctor?" He asks, carefully light.

She frowns. Apparently that's a sore spot. "I was training to be a doctor before I was arrested."

He nods, trying for calm, although he's becoming more certain by the second. "And have you got a name?"

"Clarke. I don't need to ask yours. Your sister called you Bellamy." She says, as if knowing each other's name is some kind of _competition_.

 _Clarke_. It's an interesting name for an interesting woman.

He doesn't know what to do, now. He's honestly completely flummoxed. Fate has thrown his soulmate right in his face and she's annoying as hell but also sort of hot, in a fierce kind of way. And he supposes that doctors are probably pretty caring people after all. She might be worth getting to know, perhaps?

Or maybe she's an Alpha brat and he's better off without her.

She turns and walks off before he can even begin to figure out how he wants to play this. So that's his answer, isn't it? That's what he decides. If she thinks he's not worth her notice, not even worth standing around to finish introducing themselves, then clearly she is not worth his notice, either.

It's a shame, he decides, as he watches her go. She's got a nice butt, too.

He snorts at himself for that observation. He seems to remember that twelve-year-old Bellamy thought she was a _pain in the butt_ , actually.

…...

Sleeping with every other seventeen-year-old in the entire camp is probably not a sensible or proportionate reaction to his soulmate not giving him the time of day.

He knows that, but he does it anyway.

…...

He keeps pretending that Clarke is no one special to him. He's not sure he does such a good job of it – he has an unfortunate habit of staring at her lips and smiling even when she's trying to argue with him. It turns out she's a lot more entertaining, now she's bickering with him so brightly rather than simply writing lists on the back of his hand.

There's also one horrific moment when she falls into a spiked pit and he catches hold of her and his shaking arm is all that stands between her and death. That's a pretty grim morning, really. Not because he actually cares about her or anything – it's difficult to care about someone he barely knows.

But he just thinks losing his soulmate at this point would be a _shame_. And even if the universe has made a mistake, or whatever, it would be a waste of a good doctor if she died now.

They get Clarke back up onto the ground, get Jasper down from the tree. And then, in a quiet moment while they figure out how to carry Jasper home, Bellamy asks Clarke a question.

"You doing alright?" He asks softly.

She jumps, apparently shocked, stares at him sharply. "Yeah. Yeah, why?"

"Because you just fell in a spiked pit?" He prompts. If there's one thing he's been forced to acknowledge about his soulmate over the years, she's pretty damn sharp. Why is she so slow on the uptake now?

"Oh, right. Yeah. I'm good." She says, smiling a slightly frantic smile.

"Clarke? What is it?"

She shakes her head, laughs a laugh that he's pretty sure is staged. "Nothing at all. Just – what you said. It reminded me of something. But it's nothing."

So is it _something_? Or is it _nothing_?

It's not until later that night that he figures it out. He's in his tent, balls deep in some blonde woman who looks passably like Clarke from behind.

 _You doing alright_?

It's what he wrote to her, the other year, when she disappeared on him. The only three words he ever wrote to her. He doesn't think it's such an unusual question to ask, really, but apparently it struck a chord in her memory.

Well, then. _Something or nothing_. Looks like he's not the only one who's feeling a little confused about all this soulmate business.

…...

Bellamy accuses Clarke of being weak, to his shame. Of not having the guts to make the hard choices. He stands there and taunts her, as if he thinks she is pathetic and beneath him.

He's not very good at having a soulmate, in case that wasn't clear.

She proves him wrong. Of course she does. She crouches by Atom as he lays dying and puts him out of his misery with a song to send him softly on his way, while Bellamy can only watch hopelessly.

He struggles with that, in the hours that follow. He struggles with feelings of being disappointed in himself – he's been disappointed in himself a lot, since he got his mother floated, but trying to decide what the hell to do about Clarke has been a new experience in self-loathing. He cannot put right the years he spent ignoring her, so he seems to have decided to needle at her instead.

It was a stupid thing to say in the first place, that suggestion that she's not tough enough for life and leadership on the ground. _Obviously_ she is. She was training to be a doctor on the Ark where medicine is rationed – of course she knows about tough choices. That was clearly not all sunshine and rainbows.

He should know. He saw her to-do list every day for a decade. He saw her write notes about the hospice ward and the ration records.

He remembers thinking she had never known hardship, when she first started to write to him. He remembers thinking that her comparative wealth must solve everything. But as it is, they have both been through some of the hardest things he can imagine – loss of a parent, and now life on the ground.

He stews over all this for several long hours. He snaps at his sister, which is the opposite of helpful. Things are already challenging enough between them. He is short, waspish, as he tells Stirling not to burn the meat, and almost rude as he brushes aside Bree's advances.

At last he sucks it up and goes to speak to Clarke.

"Thanks." He says shortly. "For what you did earlier, I mean. That was the right thing to do."

She nods, gives him a curious sort of look. He doesn't blame her. _That was the right thing to do_. What the hell was the point of saying that? Obviously she knows it was the right thing to do. She's the damn doctor. She doesn't need his patronising approval.

She understands that it's more than that, it turns out. Of course she understands it. That's why she's his soulmate.

"It's OK that you couldn't do it, you know." She says softly. "There are different kinds of courage and different ways of being tough. It's OK that you couldn't kill a boy who trusted you."

"Is it OK that I left you to do it instead?" He asks, annoyed with himself.

She smiles sadly. "You didn't _leave me_ to do it. You were right there with me. Thanks for that."

That's not what he meant, of course. He didn't mean that he abandoned her or something – he meant that he abdicated his responsibility to her, perhaps, and that hurts because he has always tried to take his responsibilities very seriously.

But if his soulmate is going to show him the lighter side of the situation, he supposes it would be rude to insist on staying in the dark.

…...

There is no single day when he realises he was wrong about her – or rather that the universe was right all along. That they could be good together – _are_ good together, even, despite the difficult circumstances. He gradually realises, little by little, as the days pass by, that he was wrong to judge her based on his hurt pride and the chip on his shoulder. That perhaps he allowed childish jealousy to get in the way of something that could be truly beautiful.

It comes to him in fragments, snatches, like the little bite-sized chunks of ancient myths his mother used to feed him before bed. One day he'll see Clarke laughing at one of Jasper's jokes, and realise she is not so proud. The next she'll be chopping wood with Monroe, clearly unafraid to get her hands dirty, to do hard physical labour – she simply doesn't stand on her status as the camp doctor.

But the days he really falls in love with her are the days she understands him. The days she thanks him for looking out for one or other of the kids, or laughs at one of his frantic jokes, or else tells him his sister is lucky to have him.

Realising he wants her as a soulmate leaves him in something of a tight spot, though, precisely because he never wanted her before. He never tried to reach out to her or write to her or find her, back on the Ark. So he can't exactly turn around now, and admit that he wilfully ignored her for years, and then ask if she maybe wants to hang out some time.

Today is a rather frightening day that leaves him loving her more than ever. He lashed out, threw a radio stupidly and fearfully into the river, and she responded by recentering him and seeing the good in him and coaxing him back into some good sense. He's never experienced anything like that before – the way she forgave him for his mistake, and then some, apparently desperate to convince him he is still someone worth being.

Is that what it is, to be a soulmate? To see the good in someone, no matter what, and want them to see the good in themselves too?

He goes to stand by her side, that night, as they watch the flares shoot to the heavens. He simply cannot help it. He's more or less given up, now, on staying away from her. He's a moth to a flame where Clarke is concerned.

She smiles a little at him, as he approaches. Not some big easy grin as if they are friends drinking moonshine in the factory station rec room. Just a little sad smile that says she's pleased to see him. That in this difficult situation, she's pleased she at least gets to work with him.

Or rather – he _hopes_ that's what it means. He might be projecting slightly, there.

"Do you think we can wish on this kind of shooting star?" She asks, brow quirked.

He snorts slightly. He looks at her, really takes in the way she's still full of energy and trying to keep upbeat and moving no matter what. He thinks of the way she talked him down this morning, and of the way she was accidentally keeping him grounded his entire childhood – the one constant that had him falling apart slightly when she was arrested.

He steps closer to her side. He just can't help it. He sways closer still, leaning right up against her, feeling the faintest brush of her shoulder against his upper arm. She looks up at him, grinning with a slightly wider smile, now.

She doesn't step any closer, but she doesn't pull away. And that feels like at least half a miracle, right now.

As he watches the flares shoot skywards, he knows exactly what to wish for.

He wishes his twelve-year-old self had picked up a damn pen.

…...

He doesn't mean to overhear the conversation between Clarke and Octavia the next morning. He's sort of heading to Clarke's tent with the vague intention of trying to hang out with her more and build a friendship with her. That's the plan he came up with, last night, when she didn't seem to hate his company as they stood by the fire.

He's not sure how he's going to swerve from that to _I'm sorry I blanked you for a decade_ , but he'll figure that out later.

But whether he means to overhear the conversation between Clarke and Octavia or not, he does hear it all the same.

"It's fine. More than fine. I knew Finn wasn't my soulmate or something." Clarke is saying, dismissive.

Bellamy tries not to sigh in relief too loudly at that. He has been wondering how much his soulmate cared for that other man.

He knows this is the right moment to leave, of course. If he doesn't _mean_ to overhear the conversation, he ought to be walking away right about now.

But he's obviously not going to walk away from _this_ , is he?

"You've got one? Someone else?" Octavia asks, eager and fascinated as teenagers mostly are about soulmates, in Bellamy's experience.

He wasn't like that, he frets. He was too busy trying to hate her.

"Yeah, they're not into the idea." Clarke says, trying hard to sound unaffected and not entirely succeeding, Bellamy cannot help but feel.

"Oh. That sucks. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It's OK. They actually – uh – they helped me out one time when I really needed someone. I was alone in solitary and – yeah – a little message on my wrist. So if that's all I ever hear from them at least they picked their moment."

Clarke gives a stiff laugh. Octavia joins in. Bellamy hovers outside the tent, barely able to breathe, aware that loitering here is totally wrong, yet utterly unable to tear himself away.

"I feel awful about it though." Clarke continues in a carefully jovial tone. "I presumed I didn't have one. I used to draw on my arms a lot as a kid and then I wrote a to do list on my hand for _years_. I guess I thought if I had a soulmate they'd have told me to shut the hell up by then. But nothing until they popped up that one time, so I guess they really don't believe in the whole soulmate thing."

There's an horrific silence. Bellamy can hear his pulse pounding in his ears. And he can hear, inside the tent, his sister abjectly failing to collect herself and cover his back.

"You used to write a to do list on your hand?" She asks, too bright and brittle – and too late, as well.

"Yeah, why?" Clarke asks, a little too pointed.

"No reason." Octavia lies. "So listen, about Raven -"

Bellamy has heard enough – and yet not enough, all at once. Has Clarke even figured out it's him? She must be putting two and two together, by now, even if she has not quite worked it out for certain. How does she feel about it? She didn't sound angry about his long-lasting silence.

Life was so much simpler when he didn't like her, he muses.

Simpler, and yet no happier.

…...

Octavia finds him by the water barrels that evening. He's surprised it took her that long, honestly. He did go out hunting most of the day, but his sister is a determined young woman. He wouldn't have put it past her to stalk out into the forest to give him a talking to.

"You have to tell her." She says simply, when she has him cornered.

He doesn't bother pretending to misunderstand. "I know. I will."

"When?"

He doesn't answer that. He just frowns, nervous and somehow _sad_ , and hopes that for once in her life his sister will leave well enough alone.

She doesn't. She steers in a slightly different direction, instead.

"How long have you known?" She asks him now.

"A while."

"Did you know on the Ark?" She presses.

He gulps down a swallow. "I knew some things. I knew she was Alpha station and a medical apprentice and that she liked to draw."

Octavia snorts. "Yes. But did you _know_?"

He laughs sadly, shakes his head. He doesn't really have a better way to answer that. If there's one thing he has realised since coming to the ground, it's that he knew nothing much about _anything_ , back on the Ark.

"And I'm guessing she knows nothing?" Octavia asks. "Seeing as you never replied to her?"

He bites his lip, considers his words. "I think she might have figured it out, actually."

He's not sure where he got that from. Maybe it's just his soulmate bond talking, and he's just presuming that this feeling, this knowledge, this utter _certainty_ that they are a good match cannot be one-sided.

Or maybe there is something to it. He thinks he's seen little hints in the way she looks at him, the confidence with which she meets his eyes. And he's given her a few clues – that recycled phrase from her wrist, and now Octavia's odd behaviour.

There's that, and there's also the way he can scarcely keep his eyes off her. He supposes that is probably the biggest clue of all.

"Yeah. I think she already knows." He concludes, in the end.

Octavia shakes her head firmly. "No way. If she knew she'd be permanently attached to your side."

Well, now. He didn't see that one coming. What does she mean? Is she suggesting that Clarke puts that much faith in soulmates? She doesn't seem such a naively romantic type. Is she saying that Clarke has said something to her, that she's expressed an interest in him anyway?

Whatever it is, he has a spring in his step for the rest of the evening.

…...

Bellamy doesn't sleep a lot that night. He spends a good deal of time reflecting on his past mistakes, realises that they were all caused by letting his emotions get in the way of what he knew to be right.

He figures it's about time he did better. With Clarke, he hopes, his heart and his head could be on the same page. He knows they're right for each other, and he also desperately wants to be with her. All he needs to do is tell her that, and apologise for ignoring her all those years. She'll understand – he's pretty confident of that, now he's thought it all through. She's caring and compassionate and sees the best in him even when he can't see it himself. That's part of what makes her his soulmate. So she will definitely be forgiving if he owns to his mistakes.

First thing the next morning, he sets off across the camp to find her.

She's already up and about. Of course she is. She always did write her to do list before he had even got out of bed in a morning.

"Clarke. Hey." He clears his throat. "Listen, do you want to come hunting with me today?" It's hardly the height of romance, but it's a start.

She shakes her head with a regretful twist to her lips. "Sorry. I can't. I was just coming to tell you I have to check out this supply depot Kane and Jaha gave me directions for."

He tries not to let his disappointment show. "Sure. OK. Another day maybe?"

"Yeah. Unless – do you want to come with me now? I was going to take Monroe and Harper, maybe. But if you're not busy...?"

"I'm not busy." He decides at once. He will never be too busy to spend a day with Clarke. He's looking forward to the time in her company, of course, but it's also important to him that he should go with her and protect her.

"Great. We're leaving in five."

"Can't a guy eat his breakfast?" He complains, laughing a little.

"We can eat on the move." She tells him with a shrug.

Of course she does. That's the kind of woman she is. She's been running her life by to do lists since she was seven years old, and now she has scheduled this entire day trip even though he signed up just thirty seconds ago.

He can't remember when he stopped thinking that was _annoying_ and started loving her for it.

He does as he's told. He likes arguing with Clarke when they're both in the right mood for it. But today he fancies something a little softer and calmer. He fancies a quiet walk through the woods with her, a few light jokes, a change of scene.

That's what he gets. It's a lovely walk, actually. They just wander and chat and it's _perfect_.

Well – nearly perfect. The one gaping imperfection is that he still hasn't mentioned the whole soulmate thing. They've been sharing such a flow of conversation that he just hasn't found a moment to interrupt. He's a little worried that if he brings it up now he'll ruin the buoyant mood, really.

They reach the depot. The get the door open. There's a lot of stuff inside – not all of it useful, but better than nothing, Bellamy supposes. Some blankets and first aid basics.

Then it gets better. Then he finds the barrel of guns.

"Ready to be a badass, Clarke?" He turns to ask her, teasing.

She shakes her head, brows furrowed. "In a minute. We can't just run around getting excited about the guns. I wish I had paper to make a list." She says, pulling what looks like a rather elderly pen from one of the boxes before her.

He gulps. This is it, isn't it? This is his chance.

"You could just write it on your hand like you used to." He says mildly.

She looks up at him, sharp, eyes slightly narrowed. "I wouldn't want to annoy my soulmate." She says, tone a little too level, he thinks.

"You've been annoying him for a good fifteen years now and he seems cool with it." Bellamy says, shrugging carefully.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I -"

He gives up. He simply admits defeat, throws that careful plan he constructed overnight clean out of the window. Planning is not his thing, is it? Clarke is the keeper of lists, out of the two of them. Acting from the heart is far more his style. Time to cast aside those ideas of winning her friendship and apologising sensibly.

So it is that he stops talking and kisses her. He steps forward, curls a hand firmly about the back of her head, reaches down to press his lips against hers.

She kisses him back, confident and eager and absolutely _unsurprised_ , he thinks. It feels every bit as good as he imagined it would, her lips warm and soft but sure against his own. But it feels good beyond the purely physical, too. It feels good for what it means to him. It feels good because he never imagined it could be so easy to end up here, happy in Clarke's arms, despite the chaos around them.

He pulls back first. He's enjoying himself immensely, but he figures he should probably give her a moment to catch up. They still haven't absolutely clarified what's going on here – although he supposes all those loaded comments about soulmates must mean she has figured it out.

"I'm sorry." He begins simply. "I'm sorry for not trusting you and reaching out sooner."

"Don't be. You didn't know me."

"I knew all this stuff _about_ you and I didn't realise that was different from really knowing you."

"It's OK. We're good. We're here now."

He laughs a little, the tension of the morning giving way in a warm chuckle. "Better late than never. We'd been on this planet ten minutes when I realised how much I regretted it and how much I was interested." He admits, sheepish. She's his soulmate and all, but it still feels weird to admit he has a bit of a crush on her.

 _Bit of a crush_. Hah. Like how Zeus was a bit of a womaniser, in those stories his mother used to tell.

She smiles softly at him, reaches up to press a brief kiss to his cheek. It's a small gesture, not particularly passionate or sexual. But there's something very tender about it that has him realising all over again how good this soulmate thing will be.

"I fell in love with you the second you sent me that message in the skybox." She says, utterly matter of fact.

He's stunned. Genuinely and completely _shocked_. She's Clarke – he doesn't expect to hear her say things like that. He recognises the pragmatic tone of voice as the same one she uses around camp. But he's not used to hearing her talk plainly about love rather than logistics.

"You did?" He asks faintly.

"Yeah. You obviously had a lot of trouble with the idea of soulmates otherwise you'd have replied sooner, but you reached out anyway. I could just tell you must have such a big heart. And – uh – I guess there wasn't much to do in the skybox besides drawing Earth and falling in love with a kind stranger." She admits, eyes falling away to gaze at the ground.

He nods. "I'm sorry. I wish I wrote back to you again, then. I meant to. But I just didn't know what to say. Like you said – I guess I had some trouble with the idea."

"It's OK. I get it now. I can see that it was never really about _me_. It was about your mum and your sister and a load of other stuff besides." She says, as if it's just obvious.

He supposes it is obvious to her. That's why she's his soulmate.

"Thanks." He swallows, squeezes his hands a little at her hips. Just to ground himself, to gather his courage before the next step. "I lo-"

"No." She cuts him off, places a finger over his lips. "You don't have to. It's OK. I get that it'll take you longer to get there."

He frowns at her firmly. He reaches up to take her hand, pulls it gently away from his face – but not before pressing one small kiss to her fingertip.

"I'm saying it and you can't stop me." He says, teasing. He does love teasing her. "I know I was slow getting this far. I know I kept you hanging for _years_. But I'm here now. I love you."

She sighs and sinks right into his arms, hugging him a little but mostly just existing there in his personal space. He's never going to let her hear the end of this later, he decides. It's a _swoon_ , or as good as. Calm and controlled Clarke Griffin, falling into his arms out of love?

Yeah. This has been a seriously great day trip.

He holds her tight, presses a kiss to the crown of her head.

"You doing alright?" He asks pointedly.

She snorts out a laugh, burrows further into his embrace. "Never better."

That's not bad going, he thinks, as he looks around them. They're standing in some damp and dingy cellar, socks soaked through, a chilly breeze cutting through their jackets. Up topside, an irradiated planet waits to try and kill them.

And Clarke is standing here and telling him she's never felt better, just because he happens to love her? That's the kindest thing anyone has ever said to him, he's pretty sure. It makes him feel special and successful and like he's got something right for once in his life.

Turns out his soulmate is pretty awesome, all things considered. She's wonderful, in fact, and he's head over heels in love with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
